(Untitled)

[friggin_gift]

He's moved her stuff into a neatly folded pile now. He wanted to be mad, to throw her things and burn them, but he couldn't be mad at her. He had suggested to end it. It wasn't her fault.

He's folding the last piece of clothing: a blue dress.

Comments

[comma_sticks]

She goes in without bothering to knock, without bothering to greet him, and begins to gather her things.

[friggin_gift]

He isn't speaking either. Not because he doesn't want to, but because he just can't seem to form the words. He's still holding her dress.

[comma_sticks]

She walks over and takes it out of his hands.

"That's mine, thanks."

[friggin_gift]

She pulls it from his hand easily, meeting no resistance. It's then that he realizes that he can't let her leave. Not again. He walks over, grabbing her arm and spinning her around, pressing his lips to hers before she can react.

He kisses her with everything he has. It's a passionate, pleading kiss. It's a kiss that begs her not to leave.